My Fashion Statement
by Salmon Pink
Summary: JD blames the shorts. Dr. Cox x JD


Title: **My Fashion Statement**

Fandom: Scrubs

Pairing: Dr. Cox/JD

Rating: R

Words: 1707

Timeline: "My Drama Queen", Season Two

Summary: JD blames the shorts.

* * *

It might be the shorts. Yeah, it's probably the shorts. Really, JD can't help the way his ass looks in them. His ass is definitely in the top three of his list of Ten Things Chicks Dig About The J-Man.

Maybe he should change the title of that list. 'J-Man' sounds kind of lame, now that he's thinking about it…

Anyway, yeah, it's probably the shorts.

And frustration. There's got to be some frustration in there, because Dr. Cox damn well _hates_ it when he feels his control slipping, when he feels like he's _failing_. And everybody can see he's failing _spectacularly_ when it comes to dealing with Carla and her mother's death. Doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to be around her.

Everyone can see it, and if they can't, Laverne's right there to give them a running commentary.

So shorts, and frustration, and there's the added weirdness that must come from playing dad to someone else's kid. Okay, so it actually _is_ Dr. Cox's kid, but he doesn't know that, so it's got to be weird.

So, shorts, frustration, and kid-related weirdness.

But, really, JD's pretty sure it's mostly the shorts.

It seems like the most obvious reason that Dr. Cox just threw him into an empty room. Really _threw_ him, JD's certain his feet actually left the floor, he's lucky he didn't fly straight through the window. Hell, with the kind of strength Dr. Cox put into it, he would have sailed straight over the car park, over the liquor store that Bum Leg Charlie lives outside, over the grocery store run by the Angry Polish Guy, he might have even made it home. That would be pretty convenient, actually, and it would probably save him gas money for his scooter…

Okay, yeah, crashing into the bed's enough to shake him out of that daydream (although he'd been sporting a leather hat with those funky flaps over the ears and round pilot goggles, which was pretty cool) and Dr. Cox slams the door hard enough to tell everyone in the surrounding Ward not to bother them for a while.

Well, that's just great. It's time for Dr. Cox's daily 'You've Done Something Trivial And I've Been Just _Looking_ For An Excuse To Scream And Lecture You' tirade.

JD's not stupid, despite what certain people may like to sing as they mop the corridors. He figured Dr. Cox would go crazy if he saw him doing rounds in short shorts. He'd been making a point of avoiding him.

Didn't work, obviously.

Dr. Cox glares at him with the force to melt giant things made of really strong metal, or something, and JD takes a deep breath and carefully thinks about what he can say that won't infuriate Dr. Cox further.

"The Janitor made me wear them!" Yeah, that'll work, because it really isn't his fault, because the Janitor _did_ make him wear them. And it shows he's mature enough to know _exactly_ what it is that he's done that has Dr. Cox so pissed, even if the whiny voice and the pouting he can't stop himself from doing aren't very mature at all.

The veins on Dr. Cox's forehead start twitching and he's getting all flushed and red and _shiny_ and he's clenching his fists, so JD knows that lecture is going to be a _big_ one, and that his ears will probably be ringing for the rest of the day. And Dr. Cox no doubt has a thousand new ways to make him feel stupid and insignificant that he's just been _waiting_ to use.

Instead, Dr. Cox strides forwards, grabs the front of his scrubs, and spins him around effortlessly. And then he _slams_ JD face-first into the nearest wall, and JD manages to turn his head quickly enough that he doesn't break his nose, but he's pretty sure he's going to have one _hell_ of a bruise on his cheekbone.

He makes a noise that sounds like a mistreated animal, specifically one of those really tiny fluffy dogs. Like a yelp and a squeak and a whimper, all at once.

And then Dr. Cox presses up against him, his whole body pushing against JD, and JD can feel _every_ part of him and…

And _oh_.

JD stays very still; not out of some instinct for self-preservation, but because he's actually forgotten how to move.

Dr. Cox is _hard_ and JD can feel it, because Dr. Cox has managed to press that … that _hardness_ right against JD's ass.

And then, very slowly and very purposefully, Dr. Cox rolls his hips.

This time JD makes the kind of noise that he imagines well-dressed women in old silent movies probably should be making when they have their rumps pinched. And, great, now is _not_ the time to be picturing himself in a corset and Victorian petticoats and badly-applied rouge. And, crap, it's not supposed to be _kinky_ to think of himself trapped against a wall in exactly the same way with those plentiful petticoats being slowly pushed up and around his waist…

Yup, in future JD will be able to pinpoint the _exact_ moment _that_ fetish was born.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he can't quite decide, there aren't any petticoats to be pushed up. There are, however, those shorts, and Dr. Cox's fingers slipping under the waistband, and a rough voice in his ear.

"I swear to God, Newbie, if you make _any_ noise, I _will_ make you start wearing a pretty pretty dress to work, since you're _obviously_ soooo fond of showing off those legs of yours."

It's really not JD's fault that the threat is so closely tied to his new-found fetish, so he really can't be blamed when he squeezes his eyes shut and _groans_.

Dr. Cox goes completely still, the only sound his panting beside JD's ear and the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat thundering against JD's back.

And then, gradually, like thunder rumbling in the distance, JD hears it; a low growl, constant and angry and there's no warning, just Dr. Cox grabbing his wrist, pinning it to the wall beside him, and when he rolls his hips again it's violent enough to push JD onto his tiptoes.

JD can count the number of times they've done this on one hand, and it usually involves Dr. Cox showing up on JD's doorstep, drunk and possessive. Always on a night when Turk's working late, and sometimes JD wonders if Dr. Cox keeps an eye on their schedules for such an opportunity.

Usually Dr. Cox ignores him the next day, and JD tries to cover the bruises and teeth-marks and hopes that nobody notices that he gets hard every time Dr. Cox walks past him for the following week. Or weeks. Whatever, he's pretty sure he's covered it well. He's smooth like that.

He's dragged from a daydream with him dressed as Shaft before it can even begin by Dr. Cox's free hand tangling in his hair, yanking his head back at an awkward angle that leaves his neck exposed to an aggressive tongue.

Dr. Cox has never done anything like this at the hospital, and JD's pretty certain he's never going to be able to stand in the same room as the man again without trying to hump the wall.

Which is what he's kind of doing, restless and frantic and he's still making those weird fluffy dog noises, and he's so hard it _hurts_ and Dr. Cox is holding his wrist and his hair, and not the place that JD _really_ needs to be held, so JD's rubbing himself against the wall in a way that should be embarrassing but actually feels like the greatest thing in the world.

Dr. Cox snarls and his hand lets go of JD's hair, and JD presses his forehead against the wall and pushes back against Dr. Cox's hips as much as he can.

"Fucking shorts," Dr. Cox hisses, and then his hand is back at the waistband, dragging the pale blue fabric, and the boxers underneath, down as far as he can one-handed. As far as he can without breaking contact between them for more than a few seconds, and JD pants and whines and trembles.

The wall isn't so comfortable to rub against without the protective layer of clothing, but he needs _something_, needs some kind of _friction_. He drops his hand, goes to wrap it around himself, but Dr. Cox slaps it away, and JD might just burst into tears and confirm all of Dr. Cox's worst suspicions about his personality, but then Dr. Cox wraps a hand around him and he knows he's shouting and it doesn't take more than a few expert twists of the wrist before the last trace of sense is leaving him, leaking out of his ears and making a break for it, and he's spinning and babbling and exhausted and slumping back into Dr. Cox's arms and he can feel the dampness on Dr. Cox's trousers, still pressed against his ass.

He's allowed just a moment to gather himself, and his ability to stand, and then Dr. Cox is pushing him away, almost gently compared to the way he usually acts, although it would be classified as 'violent and hateful' if anyone else was pushing him around in such a way.

"Get up, Newbie," he sighs, and he sounds tired and hoarse and not quite so homicidal.

JD manages to pull himself to standing, and only succeeds in falling against the wall. Pulling the shorts back up seems like a _lot_ of effort, but he perseveres. They feel wet and uncomfortable. JD's past caring.

Dr. Cox shakes his head and fixes him with a pointed stare. "Don't wear those again," he snaps. "They make you look like an idiot." And then he's storming away, kicking the door open, and muttering as he walks about girls and shaved legs and possibly something about tutus and leotards, but JD doesn't catch that last part, because he's slumped down to the floor and, yeah, he's still thinking about petticoats and, probably, he's going to be hard again in record time.

There must be a costume hire store in the local area where he can find Victorian-style underwear…


End file.
